


bourgeois

by kasparhauser



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 01:45:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8351488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kasparhauser/pseuds/kasparhauser
Summary: you want to try something new with jumin.





	

"can we try something new today?" you ask, though it was barely a question and more like a formality; after all, jumin always tried his best to oblige you, and when his best was supplemented by the best money could buy and jaehee's exhausted, weary, but still graduated-number-one-in-her-class-and-not-letting-this-get-her-down-when-the-future-is-still-ahead-of-us-and-tomorrow-is-a-new-day best as well, it was difficult for anything - bad luck or bad timing or bad mood - to get in his way. 

"of course," jumin replies, like always, voice soft as sleep and low as love, and his smile warm like lamplight or his hands around yours, "we can do whatever you like, love."

a piano waltz stepped lightly through the room and in time with his voice, a recording of something by satie. it seems to melt into his words, like whatever words had actually been written for it had been all wrong because he hadn't said them, and now he had rewritten the whole thing better, because this version included him and it included you. 

you lean over him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

he's sitting on the couch while you were standing, and for once you look rather down at him instead of the other way round, and you smiledas you tugged a bit at his collar to loosen it, "that's good, since i want to _play_."

"you'll have to elaborate," and his smile's still warm but somehow pulled thinner, more like a smirk; he wraps his arms around your waist. "you like to play a lot of different games; i cannot really imagine that there's a new one when we've tried so many."

"i hope you're not thinking of something filthy, jumin," you drawled, fiddling with the buttons on his dress shirt, dropping your eyes from his face. the fabric of the shirt was so soft you almost buried your face into it. "that was the last thing on my mind."

"was it?" he stops your fingers from unbuttoning his shirt. "i apologize for my mistake, then, but you must admit it was because you were a little vague. i know you can be more  _articulate_ with what you want from personal experience, so please go on. it's important to be articulate."

"jumin," you say, whiningly, playfully, settling in his lap and clasping his face in your hands, running your thumbs over his cheeks.

"darling," jumin answers, looking so deeply into your eyes it embarrassed you. "how am i supposed to know what new thing you'd like to try if you won't tell me? you know i'll do anything for you if you only tell me."

you bury your face in his shoulder; the music stops for a second before it moves on to another piano piece, dreamy and lovely - it was all in the title. liszt. it goes along with the beat of your heart, or maybe it was jumin's - well, it doesn't matter, really; they're so alike - they beat the same. they might as well have belonged to the same body ... maybe, once. a long time ago, when the sun and the earth fell in love and gave birth to the moon and the moon gave birth to people who had four arms and four legs and two hearts, like aristophanes said. only that had been too much for the gods to handle and so they split them up down the middle so you had to search for the person you had once been one person with, and

"love," he said, and you raised your head a little to look at him, and he kissed you soft on the mouth before continuing against your lips, "tell me what you want."

"i was hoping ... we could play pretend a bit," you mumble.

"that's not so different from usual," he comments, thumbing at your red cheeks. "what is it, do you want to be my kitten tonight? or maybe a princess? though you always are one, you know ... "

"no, i wanted to try something new," and you look him straight in the eyes. "it's a bit more complex than usual, though ... is it really okay?"

"of course it's fine," he kisses you on the forehead and tries pulling you even closer. "just go ahead and tell me what you want, and i'll do it."

"okay," you mumble, and stretch up to kiss him again before continuing, "well ... lately, i've been practicing my french, so ..."

"yes, you've been improving very fast. you must have a talent for languages," jumin says.

"i thought maybe we could use it for _other_ things," you mumble against his neck.

you can feel something against your thigh, and you shift.

he chuckles deeply before clearing his throat, "yes."

"so, maybe, for today - just for today, i thought - it's silly, but - maybe you could be a french lord or something, in the eighteenth century, a lord with lovely dark hair and lovely dark eyes and a white soft cat and who drinks red wine, wears lovely dark clothes and lives in a lovely dark palace ..."

"i didn't know you were one for historical fiction," he laughs again. your heart swells, and your cheeks are marx-red, but his fingers curl in your hair as he says, "and who are you?"

"i'm a peasant - just some common person - "

"you're not common in any meaning of the word," he says, a curl of your hair twisted around his fingers. "but it is only play, i suppose ... go on, then. does the lord fall in love with this little peasant girl?"

"no," you say, and his fingers stop playing with your hair. "no, he's really cruel. he's a tyrant, even if he's only a mere lord. you see, there's this other girl, this serving girl who assists him and does a lot of his real work, who takes care of his cat and tries her best to keep tax rates bearable, though he's ever so demanding, and me, i sympathize with her. we sympathize with each other, actually. she's being worked to the bone, and one day she asks for a bit more money. but you, my lord, you're this terrible, terrible boss, even though you're lovely in all these other ways. you're just awful, really, as a lord. you tell her whatever money she has is enough, and anyway extra work isn't so bad."

"[name]," he says, and his voice is perfectly flat.

"sorry, it's a little long. but the setting's important. the context. anyway, when i said the eighteenth century i meant it's late in the year of 1788, and so - "

you wrap both your arms tight around his throat - jumin's caught so off guard he chokes more from shock than your actual grip.

"guillotine, lord jumin! you're guillotined by the french revolutionaries for your flagrant abuse of power!"

after settling a bit, you loosen your grip just a bit.

"then i, a lowly peasant, go and find your lovely head in the basket ... i mourn you sadly, and then i put your head on a pike and march up and down the street, calling for the death of the bourgeois. but secretly, i've loved you all along."

you slide your arms from his throat to around his shoulders, holding him. he's completely stiff.

"if only i had saved you - if only you had been kinder to your servants, my lord," you whisper. "that would've saved you, and perhaps - perhaps we could have lived together, loved one another."

"[name]," he repeats.

"i think you should give jaehee a raise," you reply, turning to grab the remote off the table and turning on the television, still in his lap. coincidentally, there's a history documentary on about the french revolution - you're just in time to witness lavoisier's reenacted beheading.

"i'll talk to her about it tomorrow," he sighs, his arms wrapping back around you. 


End file.
